


something so magic about you

by dameofpowellestate



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Bed and Breakfast, David has Mrs. Bennett Energy, F/F, Patrick is a wine troll, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, it gets explicit, lots of feelings, lots of love, raccoons - Freeform, way too much talk about freckles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dameofpowellestate/pseuds/dameofpowellestate
Summary: Stevie's working on setting up a new Rosebud Motel Group project, only this one is in Elm Ridge and happens to be a Bed and Breakfast. Twyla offers to help her get some of the painting done, feelings and shenanigans follow.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose, Stevie Budd/Twyla Sands
Comments: 85
Kudos: 31
Collections: Elevate! A Schitt's Creek Femslash Exchange, Up for Anything – a Schitt's Creek WLW porn collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [samwhambam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwhambam/gifts).



> The prompt was "Stevie's working on setting up a new motel somewhat close to Schitt's Creek. Except this one, is more of a bed and breakfast. And Twyla helps her set up the breakfast part and there's FEEEEEELINGS."
> 
> This prompt led to many many episodes of Gilmore Girls being watched, Folklore on repeat, and a lot of googling. Title credit goes to From Eden by Hozier. I hope you you like it samwhambam!

Ronnie lets out a low whistle as soon as she steps out of the truck. Stevie can hear her from where she's sitting on the questionably stable front porch steps, biting nervously on her thumbnail. 

She's had a hand in renovating and starting a few roadside motels at this point in her career but never completely by herself and never an actual honest to god bed and breakfast. 

When Mr. Rose called her about this property, told her they’d finally gotten the deed and asked her to head it up, she’d jumped at the chance to make Mr. Rose proud. 

The property itself is charming if a little dilapidated… maybe a lot dilapidated... in a few areas. It needs a lot more work than she's had to put into the other places. There's still evidence of a kitchen fire from eight years ago that needs some serious elbow grease, along with a bit of acreage that needs to be tamed. 

Which is why she called Ronnie.

"This is one hell of a mess, girl," Ronnie says, already taking off around the side of the house, her hands perched on her hips. 

"It's not as bad as it looks, the inspection wasn't a death sentence. Most of the inside is well maintained… minus the kitchen," Stevie says taking off after her, her steps quick in order to keep up with Ronnie’s sure, quick strides. 

"Well, structurally she doesn't look too bad. Might get by just replacing the porch,” Ronnie says tapping her work boot against a few of the sideboards lining the back porch.

Which is still a bit of a job considering the porch wraps around the entire building. Stevie watches as Ronnie takes the back steps up to the porch and walks around, taking her time to test out several of the boards. 

“Yeah, they’ve done the foundation work already,” she says as they enter the back door that takes them into the mostly gutted kitchen. The last owners had started the renovation but didn’t really get any further than pulling out the old burnt cabinets, but it's spacious and airy in a way that’ll be nice with the right coat of paint.

The windows over where she’d like to put the bay of sinks are large and let in a ton of natural light. It’ll be a good kitchen, one where there won’t be any trouble at all preparing breakfast and maybe even other meals if the property does well enough.

Stevie follows Ronnie through the small dining room with it’s garish pink tile and into the foyer with it's dark wood floors that don't look half bad, though the whole place will need to be painted inside and out without a doubt. 

She wants to use bright and cozy colors for the walls here. Yellows and greens… maybe some blue. She can see it in her head as she follows Ronnie through the rest rooms downstairs and into the suites upstairs. 

There’s something here, something magical about this place. She’s not sure if it’s because it’s so different from the other places she’s worked on; if it’s the grounds outside with plenty of room to do whatever landscaping she sees fit. 

If it's the pond that sits just a few minutes down a trail from the property. If it’s the fact that despite the condition of the place she can tell that it was, at one point, well loved and cared for. That it just needs some TLC to make it special again.

If it’s the potential of what she can bring to this place and hopefully what this place can bring her. Further proof for Mr. Rose that he made the right choice in betting on her, in encouraging her… believing in her. 

She may not be sure, but she loves this place and she wants to do it justice.

Ronnie doesn't say anything throughout the rest of the inspection. No hmms, no huffs. Not a word about Stevie's hovering, not about the squeaky floorboards or the random hole in the wall in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

_ Nothing.  _ And it makes Stevie sweat under the collar of her flannel shirt. She just wants people to see what she sees in this place. The untapped potential. 

They circle back to Ronnie's truck before Stevie plucks up the courage to say anything, "Well?" she says, all that her nerves will allow her to mutter.

There's a pause as Ronnie seems to take in the inn once more, her eyes studying Stevie's face for a moment as well.

"Yeah, I'll take the contract," she says crossing her arms and leaning her hip against her truck.

Stevie lets out a breath she's apparently been holding for quite some time if the burn of her lungs is anything to go by. She’s so glad she doesn’t have to hire someone else. She likes working with Ronnie, she likes that Ronnie lets her call the shots and work onsite, sticking her hands and nose into everything. Which, to be honest, isn’t something Ronnie lets very many people do.

"Okay, but how bad is it?"

Ronnie shrugs half-heartedly. “It's not so bad."

"Okay but that's… not so good?"

"Well, some of the flooring needs replacing. I'm assuming you saw the pink tile? The carpet upstairs has got to go but the wood floors just need a bit of a refinish," she says, her nose scrunching just a smidge in distaste.

Stevie crosses her arms in an attempt to stifle her anxiousness, nervous energy settling in her bones. She just really wants to make Mr. Rose proud. For him to come back and take a look at this place himself and see exactly what she’s capable of.

"Okay, and?"

"Well... the porch needs to be completely replaced," Ronnie adds, her head nodding towards the porch.

"Yeah, I figured that."

"Honestly, I'd say you could have this place up and running in a few months? And I've got someone that can take a look at the landscaping."

"Oh! Well, I'll handle the painting inside and can help with whatever else, I guess?” she says, relieved.

Which is true. This is her job now. She travels too much to still staff the Rosebud full time, so she’s hired a small crew to take care of it. 

"I'm seeing the landscaper again. She also runs the local florist shop, so I'll have her come out and look at the property tomorrow, if that works for you? I'm supposed to be meeting her about now so I should…" she says gesturing over her shoulder. 

"Yeah! Yeah sure… I'll be here."

"It'll be a great addition to the town once it's done, Stevie. Quit stressing," Ronnie says before climbing in her truck and taking off. 

She sure as hell hopes Ronnie’s right.

*******

Weekly dinners became a thing shortly after the wedding when both Stevie and David spent far too many working hours in the store bickering. Patrick had quickly deemed it a hostile work environment and decided it must be coming from the lack of time they got to spend together now that David and Patrick live further out of town and Stevie’s work kept her busier than working the front desk at the Rosebud ever did.

Stevie’s so relieved this week’s dinner happens to fall on the day she got the news back about the bed and breakfast because she could really  _ really _ use a glass of wine. 

She throws her messenger bag into the booth and plops down across from David and Patrick, her hands already reaching for the glass of red wine Patrick must have ordered for her. David would never be so thoughtful. 

She downs about half of it before finally addressing the two men, “I’m sorry I’m late, I had a lot of paperwork to sign over at Ronnie’s after the initial inspection.”

“How’d it go?” David asks, his fingers delicately plucking a mozzarella stick from the plate in the middle of the table.

“It’s fine… it needs a lot of work and actually, I’m going to need to help with the painting so— ” she said, flashing them what she hopes is her most convincing grin. 

David lets out a laugh, "I don't paint."

"You used to work in a gallery!" she says, grabbing a mozzarella stick of her own and jabbing it in his direction. 

"Yes, and all the paint there was  _ dry." _

"And all those nude paintings you did in college, was that paint dry or would we assume it was  _ very  _ wet?" Patrick snarks, his shoe tapping against Stevie’s under the table.

David lazily rolls his eyes at her, this argument old enough to no longer phase him, "Look, I'm only painting if it's Harry Styles and a string of pearls and preferably nothing else. We've talked about this," he says dismissively but Stevie grins when she sees Patrick's nearly invisible eyebrows lift.

David apparently notices too because he presses a kiss to Patrick's temple and says softly, "or you of course, Honey. String of pearls optional but encouraged."

Patrick preens before clearing his throat. "I'd love to help, Stevie, but I'll be getting ready for the hockey season to start," Patrick says, and at least has the decency to look sad about it. 

"It's fine, I'm sure I can ask my… many other friends to help me paint," she mutters sarcastically, rolling her eyes and finishing her glass of wine just as Twyla walks up to take their order. 

"Oh! What are you painting Stevie?" She asks, pen poised on the pad of paper and high ponytail swinging. 

"The newest Rosebud Motel Group project. It's over in Elm Ridge. I asked these two but they're completely useless."

"Oh! Well I'll help you on my days off when I'm not meeting with the Jazzagals! I love painting and not to brag but I'm  _ really _ good at edging," she said with a self-satisfied grin that causes David to promptly choke on his mouthful of mozzarella stick.

Stevie shoots him a look before turning back to Twyla, trying to ignore how hot her cheeks suddenly feel.

"Yeah, that'd be great Twyla. I really… appreciate it," she stumbles out. 

Twyla beams and turns to leave before remembering to take their orders, which she does and then rushes back behind the counter, her cheeks tinged slightly pink. 

"So uh… what's going on there Stevie?" Patrick asks, the look on his face much like the one he has when they're both teasing David. 

"Nothing? Twyla and I became friends during Cabaret, I guess? We… talk sometimes?"

She glances over at Twyla as she flits around behind the counter. They are friends, right? Why does Patrick think that's weird?

"Seems like…" he starts but cuts himself off. 

"Seems like what? Weird I'd have friends other than you two idiots? Twyla is really nice, nicer than you two leaving me all on my own to paint the inn!"

Patrick just gives her what looks like his annoying  _ I'm right about something  _ smirk and says, "Well you're not alone now… you have Twyla." 

"Okay weirdo, pour me some more wine and update me on the store or something," she says dryly, only letting her eyes flicker back over to Twyla for another second. 

And then three more times before they finally call it a night. 

It's not like she feels like she's doing anything different. She's always looking at Twyla. Twyla is cute and nice and she's a bit like a sunbeam. Anyone would be hard-pressed not to let their gaze linger… right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge massive thank you to NeelyO and returntosaturn for making this possible. And my supportive friends for cheering me on.
> 
> A big thank you to the wonderful mods for putting together a fest that brings us more f/f fics and for all the hard work that goes into putting this together.


	2. Chapter 2

Stevie expects to have to wait for Twyla to show up when she pulls onto the long driveway leading up to the building, so when she sees Twyla's truck already waiting in the parking lot and the woman herself sitting on the front porch steps with what looks like enough coffee and pastries to feed an army of Davids, she nearly slams on the brakes.

Her heart definitely does something strange inside her chest that's  _ very  _ new. Feels similar to the fondness she feels for the Roses or Patrick when they do something nice for her… but different. 

Something different she's not sure she's felt in a very long time. 

It's nice. Twyla's nice. 

And apparently also very eager to paint. 

"Good morning, Stevie!" Twyla says cheerily as she grabs the bags of treats and follows Stevie inside. 

"You're here early," Stevie responds flatly and wants to grimace at the fact she can't even greet Twyla properly. 

"Well, I was just really excited that you asked me to help you and I wanted to get to the café and pick up some things for us…"

"Twyla, you volunteered for this and I'm not going to let you forget it when you run screaming when you see how much we have to paint."

Twyla just laughs and hands Stevie a to-go cup that smells like her usual order.

"I did a lot of prep work this week so the room we're working in today has already been taped and tarped so we just have to paint."

“You’ve been busy! Well, let’s get started! Should I start at the top or bottom?” Twyla asks, moving to pour some paint in one of the smaller handheld buckets.

“Top?” 

Twyla grins and moves the ladder to the far wall and sets to work on the top part of the wall. 

Watching Twyla work, Stevie tries to think of a time when Twyla’s ever looked cuter than she does on top of the ladder in her overalls with paint on her nose. But she comes up empty. She keeps glancing up at Twyla from her spot on the floor.

Twyla’s been on the ladder for most of the morning, which is how Stevie finds out that what she calls cutting in, Twyla apparently calls edging. 

Not that she's been thinking about the comment from dinner at the café for days. 

They've been working on the foyer, drifting in and out of companionable silence with Twyla handling the...  _ edging... _ the light green paint contrasting perfectly with the wood floors, whatever folk playlist Twyla has playing from her phone their soundtrack for the day. 

They talk too, though. About the café, the Roses, the motels. 

Twyla's been keeping up with all the motels Stevie's worked on so far and asks her questions about how they're doing and which one is her favorite and well, Stevie never knew how well Twyla paid attention to her.

They break for lunch and Twyla hands Stevie a sandwich she packed and Stevie feels like an absolute dick for not planning for this day outside of painting supplies. 

“I owe you lunch next time, Twyla. Assuming there will be a next time?” Stevie says softly, unwrapping her sandwich as she drops gracelessly to the front porch steps.

“Don’t worry about it Stevie! I don’t mind. Maybe one day we could find a nice place for a picnic… this place is beautiful,” Twyla says sitting down next to her, her own unwrapped sandwich in hand. 

“I— yeah that would be nice, and I think I know just the place. I know I told you earlier that the motel in Elm Hollow was my favorite, but I really think it’s going to be this place. It’s… different. It feels special. That probably sounds stupid but...” she trails off with a shrug. 

“Not at all! This building has a good energy to it, and the grounds are magical. I like it here too… it’s enchanting,” she says before taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “And this is your first place by yourself? Without Mr. Rose overseeing anything?”

“Yeah and I just… want to make him proud,” she says despite herself. She doesn’t like talking about her relationship with Johnny, this weird paternal hole she’s always had somewhere inside that he filled what feels like eons ago.

It feels special, and secret… a lot like this place.

“Stevie, he’s already proud of you. You’ve done such a great job with the Rosebud and everything you’ve done since. You’re pretty amazing.”

Stevie feels her face heat up under Twyla’s praise and she’s ready to argue, ready to tell Twyla there’s no possible way she could know that, but when Stevie meets the other woman’s eyes they see right through her. 

Twyla’s always seen the world differently and maybe it’s because she sees things others don’t. Maybe she just has… more perspective than anyone gives her credit for.

“We’ve known each other for a long time, Stevie, and even though we didn’t float in the same circles I’ve always been aware of you. I’m really glad we got the chance to work together on Cabaret. You’ve grown a lot… you should be really proud of yourself and who you’ve become,” Twyla says easily.

She says everything easily and it’s always made Stevie uneasy, the way Twyla always says exactly what she thinks. Sometimes it's an embarrassing anecdote and other times it’s some insightful observation.

“You’re the same,” she blurts before she has time to question it. 

Twyla’s eyebrows lift and her head tilts in curiosity. 

“I— I just mean… you’ve always been so sure of yourself. Of what you want. You’ve always been the same kind and caring person that you are now and that makes you kind of amazing, too.”

And those were words she’d just said out loud to Twyla. What is  _ wrong _ with her? She doesn’t even talk with David like this when she’s drunk. 

“So… next time you pack a picnic, and I’ll sneak some wine from Rose Apothecary?” Stevie offers.

Twyla throws her head back in a laugh, the freckles dusting her cheeks golden in the afternoon sun, and Stevie feels like melting a bit at how cute she is. “Yeah, that sounds good, Stevie.”

*******

It's four days before Twyla has her next day off and Stevie's been busy. She's finished taping off the entire downstairs and has started trying to figure out how the hell she's supposed to handle the breakfast part of the bed and breakfast.

She needs a menu, she needs a chef… it's an entirely different ballgame than cinnamon buns and burnt, week-old coffee.

Needless to say she's relieved to have another day painting with Twyla, this one coming with the promise of a picnic.

She's been looking forward to it the same way she looks forward to time with David and Patrick. Now that she actually  _ works  _ at her job, she doesn't take nearly as much time for herself as she used to. And even though this is work it at least feels fun.

Twyla’s wearing shorts and a tank top when she arrives and for some reason it’s driving Stevie a little crazy. She reasons it must be because she’s never been this close to all those freckles before. Her eyes seem to want to memorize them, to make a topographical map of Twyla’s freckles.

Maybe it’s her cuffed denim shorts that are doing wonders for her shapely thighs and make her legs seem endless. They’re nice, Twyla’s legs. 

They’ve moved on to the little dining room today. Stevie finished off the foyer herself earlier this week, and a few more hands would certainly be helpful. But that would mean people entering this space, and Stevie already feels protective of it, and this time with Twyla. 

Maybe she’s just gotten used to having company over the last few years. She spent years alone in that motel office, company found in the pages of a book or whatever she could get going on the prehistoric computer. 

But then the Roses came and filled that place with so much life, as tumultuous as it sometimes was in the beginning. She misses having them  _ still _ and it's been well, a while since Mr. and Mrs. Rose moved.

She hasn’t even bothered to try dating since Emir. She’s gone through nearly every guy in town and after a while even Jake’s massage circles grew a little tiresome. 

So yeah, she’s alone a lot more now, and maybe this time with Twyla is just filling some kind of relationship void she has in her life.

The job, the motels, they got her out of her rut before. It’s been so fulfilling, taking these old places and making them new. But maybe she’s let it mask the fact she needs companionship. She’s got David and Patrick, and she sees them enough, but they’re still busy with the store, especially with all the increased business from the motels. They’re still working on the cottage and Patrick’s got sports and David… watches Patrick do the sports.

It’s all very domestic and she loves that for them but it definitely cuts down on the time she gets to spend with her best friends, which is why they make an effort to have weekly dinners.

She feels the loss of it now, though, as Twyla fills the spaces she’s long since forgotten existed inside her. 

Twyla’s got a playlist of what sounds like Dolly Parton and other country legends playing today, which Stevie doesn’t mind. And she definitely doesn’t mind Twyla’s singing when they’re not chatting. Stevie finds that to be really cute. 

*******

“You brought an actual… picnic basket and a blanket?” Stevie asks, tucking the bottle of white wine she brought under her arm and following Twyla around as she grabs a few things from a cooler she also brought and watches as she stuffs them into the basket. 

“Well yeah, I said I was going to pack a picnic, Stevie, and you can’t have a picnic without a basket and a red checkered blanket.”

“I mean, I’ve eaten plenty of sandwiches in parking lots before. I think technically that still counts as a picnic.”

“Stevie! That is not a picnic. Picnics are cute. Parking lots aren’t cute, they’re sad! Now, come on… you said you knew a place.”

Stevie grins and takes off through the side door, leading them into the still untamed grounds.

“Ronnie says she’s seeing a woman who owns a landscaping company so she’s going to cut us a deal. I think this place has a lot of promise. There’s a tiny pond, which is where we’re going. I want to put some tables and stuff out here, maybe even a hammock… really make it somewhere people can enjoy a nice glass of wine or a book,” Stevie says, pointing to a few different places she thinks would be nice to add the few touches.

“That sounds lovely Stevie, you’ve really got an eye for this.”

Stevie glances over her shoulder to offer a shrug but stops short, her eyes catching on the way the sun is hitting Twyla’s hair and making it glow brightly.

She blinks hard a few times and keeps trekking toward the pond. She can see it now, just in the distance. 

She stops short of a shady spot under a large oak tree and waves her arm in a sarcastic “ta-da” gesture which provokes a laugh from Twyla.

They spread the blanket out and sit next to each other, Twyla quickly unpacking the basket while Stevie uncorks the bottle and pours them both a glass. 

“I uh… probably should have chilled the wine. I normally don’t drink white wine but it sounded nicer for a picnic?”

“It’s great Stevie, and it’ll go great with the food I’ve packed,” Twyla says, laying out an assortment of cheeses, meats, crackers, fruit, and veggies.

It looks like it took a long time to put together. It also just looks… really good. 

Stevie wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but definitely something simpler like a pb&j and apple slices... not something so  _ nice _ . She also really needs to think of a word other than  _ nice _ to describe Twyla and the things she does.

Charming fits. Sweet. Romantic seems… weird, but that’s sort of what this picnic feels like.

“Twyla this is um… really nice,” she says and inwardly grimaces, suddenly very aware she’s completely at a loss for what any of these cheeses are.

“It’s just some meat and cheese.”

Stevie cuts her a glare and rolls her eyes which makes Twyla chuckle softly. “And fruit and olives and crackers and fresh bread and—”

“Yeah, I just wanted it to be a nice little surprise in the middle of the day. I thought it would be fun!”

“It is. I’ve been having a lot of fun with you… painting.”

Twyla just smiles brightly and passes Stevie a plate to fill up.

“I don’t know what  _ any  _ of this stuff is.” 

“Oh! I’d love to help. So for our soft cheese we’ve got brie. Let me… let me make you something. I’m going to put some of this brie on a cracker with a little bit of this peppered salami and then just a  _ bit  _ of fig jam,” she narrates as she puts the cracker together quickly and efficiently. 

“That’s a lot of flavors?”

“Just trust me,” she chirps, holding the cracker out for Stevie to eat from her fingers. Stevie thinks maybe romantic is the correct way to think of this little picnic, and she can’t for the life of her figure out why that’s not weirding her out.

She takes the offered bite-sized cracker, her lips closing around the tips of Twyla’s fingers, and she’s not sure if it’s that or the explosion of flavours on her tongue that makes her stomach swoop drastically. But she’s going to go with the food.

She chews thoughtfully and hums happily as the sweetness of the fig hits just right with the slight twang of the cheese and the salt and pepper of the meat. It’s gorgeous and she needs more.

“Twyla! If you know how to do this with flavours why don’t you serve stuff like this at the café?”

Twyla just shrugs, “Those menus came with the café. I don’t want to change anything really… I like it.”

“Twyla, I don't mean this to sound… well, how it's going to sound? But the food at the café isn't, well, good," she says softly leaning over to fill her plate with more of the spread in front of her, watching Twyla closely to see what she puts together.

"Well yeah, that's it's charm?"

"Twyla bad food isn't charm!" she says laughing far too loudly.

Twyla’s tinkling laughter joins hers, her head tipping back and an olive rolling off her plate as she shakes her head, "Stevie, the café does really well financially. People  _ like _ complaining about the food. And most of them eat at least one meal there a day. Yourself included."

“Okay, okay… you’re right I guess, but this really is very good. I wonder if we could offer this type of thing here? Like obviously I've got to figure out breakfast, but what if people didn't want to go out for dinner or something? We could offer this and a bottle of wine for an additional fee.”

"Stevie! That's such a great idea! And if you need help with the breakfast menu I'd love to help. Breakfast food is my absolute favorite!" Twyla says before popping a cherry tomato in her mouth. 

"Really? That would be a huge help! I've been trying to figure out menus and expectations for a chef but I'm… a little lost."

"Well, I've got plenty of experience! I mean, you've made your thoughts on the Café’s menus very clear but—"

"Twyla, I'd love it if you'd be willing to help me. We'll have to find the time to go over some things and if you're willing to make that time so am I."

"I would be glad to make more time for you! Or um… you know, this place too. Plus, I've been really wanting to try out this new recipe for lemon ricotta pancakes, so this is a great excuse."

They stay outside for far too long, enjoying the scenery and each other and every bit of food Twyla packed for them… and the entire bottle of wine.

Twyla's cheeks turned a nice rosy pink after one glass and Stevie was more than a little enamored with it all.

Once they make it back inside they easily fall back into the warm comfort they’ve found in working together. They wasted some prime working hours outside,so they both seem to instinctively know there’s a lot of ground to cover. They don't speak much but the space is full of glances and the occasional tipsy laugh. 

They’re so focused that it's dusk before they know it, and Stevie's not sure how long it's been since she could see the paint on the walls. Neither of them had stopped long enough to even turn on a source of light. 

She knows she’s lingering now, but she doesn't really… want to go home yet. It'll be several more days before Twyla's back here to join her. 

There's just something so magical about this place and these moments that she doesn't want to dissipate. It's like she's frightened that once there are no longer any walls for them to paint there won't be any of these moments left. 

Which is absurd, right? They're just… painting and talking. It shouldn't feel this… sacred. 

"We should probably call it a night, Twyla, we've been at it all day," she finally says, placing her roller into the tray.

"Well, at least let me help you clean the brushes. That way we can leave together," Twyla says, gathering up her hand-held bucket and smaller brush.

Maybe Stevie's not the only one lingering. There's something tense, something charged in the air and it must be Twyla not wanting the day to end either. 

They wash the brushes outside as quickly as they can before they lose the last bit of light in the sky and Twyla scrubs a bit of the paint off her legs, her shorts having not been much protection from a day of painting.

They're still mostly silent, which Stevie doesn't mind. Now that they've stopped painting she feels the exhaustion of the day deep in her bones and in how heavy her arms feel. It also gives her ample time to soak up the last bits of this evening… of this feeling that's settled warmly in her chest that feels a lot like contentment. 

"I'll have to cook myself a quick dinner tonight," Twyla says, stopped in front of the porch as she waits for Stevie to lock up. 

"You could just be more like me and  _ never  _ cook. The only home cooked meals I get are the ones I talk Patrick into making when we have our weekly dinner at their house instead of the café," she grumbles as she joins Twyla on the lawn, her eyes trying to take in the constellations of her freckles instead of the ones in the sky. 

Twyla's eyes meet hers and she smiles fondly. “You could…you  _ should _ come over Friday night. Let me make you dinner." 

Stevie falls silent, her mouth opening and closing several times as Twyla just continues to smile and wait patiently for her to answer… like she fucking knows Stevie's brain is going haywire. 

Stevie wants to say no. That Twyla's already done too much to help her, that she doesn't need Twyla to take care of her or worry about her… she doesn't want that from anyone. It's hard to accept that from anyone.

But Stevie's also not really that person anymore, even if her hardwiring takes a minute to override. 

"Yeah, okay. But can I bring anything?"

"Just yourself! It'll be fun. We can even talk menus if we have time," Twyla says, reaching out to squeeze Stevie's hand before picking up her picnic basket and heading for her car.

Once Stevie forces herself into her car she goes to the cafe to pick up dinner and even though she  _ knows  _ Twyla won't be there and even though she just spent the entire day with her, her heart sinks just a bit at the sight of the fresh-faced teenager Twyla took way too long to hire.

She slides on to a bar stool next to Ronnie without a second thought. 

"Hey kid, how's the painting going?" She asks not bothering to look up from the same newspaper Stevie is certain she's been skimming since this morning. 

"It's going… well. We finished the dining room."

"Oh, was it a  _ we _ today? Spent your day with Twyla then?"

"Um… yeah." 

"Well, just let me know if you want me to lend you a crew. It'll cost ya, but I can probably cut you a deal and it'll get done faster."

"No! I mean… it's fine. I think we can manage."

Ronnie's eyes slide from the paper to Stevie's slowly, long enough for a sly grin to take up residence on her face and for Ronnie to turn fully towards her. "Sorry, you  _ don't  _ want a deal on some help?"

"Um… no? Not yet?"

"What the hell are you and Miss Sands getting up to during the day out there?"

"I don't know what you're implying but I swear it's nothing but painting."

"Uh huh."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. Didn't know you batted for my team Stevie," she says, chuckling to herself.

"I don't! Well… not normally? Look, we're not having this conversation," Stevie says, kicking her dangling feet nervously.

Ronnie smirks and turns back to her paper, "What conversation?"

Stevie spins herself around on the barstool once and clears her throat, “If we  _ were  _ having this conversation…” she begins, flipping open the menu on the counter and decidedly not looking at Ronnie, “I’d probably say something about how this time… with Twyla feels really nice and she made us a picnic today and it’s the most heard and seen I’ve felt in a very long time and I now know exactly how many freckles she has on her nose and I feel really weird about it?” Stevie rushes out at a speed that surprises even her. 

Ronnie harrumphs and Stevie looks over at the other woman out of the corner of her eye in time to see her eyebrow lift skeptically.

“Weird but also good? It’s weird… having a friend that’s not David and Patrick,” she finishes.

“Look, maybe I don’t have enough friends but I don’t know how many freckles any of them have… and no friend has ever packed me a picnic. Sounds like you outta rethink this relationship a little,” Ronnie says before folding her paper in half and tucking it under her arm. 

She seems to hesitate just a moment before reaching out a hand to awkwardly pat Stevie’s shoulder. “Just let me know when you’re ready for more help painting. At least let my guys finish the upstairs. 

“Yeah… I’ll let you know.” she says, the meaning of what Ronnie had told her still rolling around in her brain.


	3. Chapter 3

She’s nervous. Why the fuck is she nervous? She’s just going over to Twyla’s house for dinner. Like, not even really dinner more like… just a girls’ night, right? Like, girls that are friends have dinner together all the time and don’t think about the clothes they’re going to wear and whether or not they should wear the pair of jeans that make their ass look good… right? 

Stevie’s really just not… sure. She’s never really done a girls’ night or a girls’ dinner or whatever the fuck this stressful social situation is. 

She wishes she could call David, ask him to come over and help her pick out an outfit for this stupid night but she also just… doesn’t wanna explain why she can’t pick an outfit to go eat dinner at Twyla’s house. 

After exactly forty-five more seconds of staring into her closet she picks up her phone ready to call David when her phone rings… and it’s David. 

“I’m busy,” she says by way of greeting.

“Okay, but are you busy later because Patrick’s got something… sports-related and I don’t have to go so I thought maybe we could hang? Have some wine… maybe some other _treats_ ,” he says in a way that lets Stevie know he’s not talking about butter tarts.

“I am busy later,” she says, plucking her favorite black shirt and a plum colored top with a low neckline out of her closet and walking them over to her bed. 

“Oh? What are you doing and can I come?”

“Did Patrick only tell you that you didn’t have to go because you said you already had plans with me?”

The phone is silent for several seconds before David finally answers. “Yes, but it’s been so long since we’ve hung out.”

“We had dinner like, three days ago.”

“Stevie! Please?”

“Um, you actually can’t come. I’m having dinner with Twyla.”

“You’re going on a date with Twyla?!” he says, his voice hitting an octave that tells her his eyebrows have to be in his hairline.

“No… I’m going over to Twyla’s house and she’s making us dinner. Like, a girls’ night.”

“Are there going to be other girls?”

“Well… no?”

“What are you going to wear?”

“I don’t know…”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come? We could make it a tradition to accompany each other to dinners that we think aren’t dates but really are,” he goads.

“Well, to make it a tradition I think that implies you’ll be doing it again, so is that something I need to warn Patrick about now or later?” 

“Stevie!”

“David! Seriously, there’s nothing going on. We’re just friends.”

“I like this for you.”

“Oh my god!”

“Wear the black jeans that make your ass look nice and a nice t-shirt. Like, a fitted one, not one of your frumpy ones that you wear under your flannels. For god’s sake Stevie, don’t wear a flannel,” he says so loudly Stevie pulls the phone away from her ear. 

“I’m going to wear pajamas because it’s girls’ night and not at all, in any way, a date. Bye David,” she says and hangs up, tossing her phone onto her bed in a huff.

David is absolutely ridiculous. There’s no way Twyla would ever be interested in her, and not in the way David thought Patrick would never be interested in him.

This is completely different. David _liked_ Patrick. Stevie doesn’t like Twyla… They’re just friends. Maybe Stevie thinks about Twyla sometimes, admires how pretty she is, how kind and funny, but those are all things friends can think about friends.

She puts both shirts back in her closet and grabs her black jeans and her nice fitted olive green t-shirt instead. It’s not a date but that doesn’t mean she’s dumb enough to ignore fashion advice from David. 

*******

She’s immediately glad she didn’t wear pajamas when Twyla greets her in what has to be one of Alexis’ old dresses. It’s pretty, flowy, and floral, and it goes well with the braid draped over her shoulder. 

Stevie’s never been to Twyla’s home before but it’s not at all what she was expecting. She’s a block over from the Schitt’s and it’s really quite a cute little place. 

None of the furniture seems to match and it’s definitely got more of a rustic cottage feel to it than David and Patrick’s actual cottage does. 

Everything is painted in calming hues of yellow and orange and green. There’s dried flowers hanging from multiple places and a nice range of dried herbs in the kitchen, Stevie notices, as she follows Twyla towards the delicious smell coming from the large pot on the stove. 

“It’s a little cooler today so I hope you like soup. Well, it’s kind of a soup and a pasta… it’s a soup that has pasta in it? It’s really good,” Twyla says.

“It smells delicious. Thanks for doing this… I really should be doing nice things for you,” she says accepting the glass of red wine Twyla passes her. 

"You are! You’re letting me help you with the bed and breakfast, you came to my place for dinner… those are all nice things,” Twyla says, taking a sip of her own wine and placing it precariously down on the very edge of the kitchen table as she moves back to the soup.

“Those are things you’re doing for me Twyla!” Stevie says incredulously as she scoots Twyla's glass a few inches away from the edge of the table.

“Why can’t it be both?” She asks, holding the wooden spoon out with a little broth for Stevie to taste. 

She can’t think of a response, because Twyla’s right. Who is Stevie to tell her what she feels?

She tries and fails to gracefully slurp the broth off the end of the spoon but only dribbles a little down her chin. It’s creamy and tomatoey, resulting in a delightful flavour that warms her chest as it goes down. 

“Wow,” is all she says, her eyes slipping closed as she tries to hang onto it.

“Yeah, this is always my go-to dinner if I want to impress someone. It’s easy but really flavourful.”

“Ah, so you make this soup for all the girls then,” she says and it comes out much flirtier than she intends it to. _What is wrong with her?_ David fucking Rose got in her head, she’s sure. But her heart flutters as she thinks about Twyla wanting to impress her.

Twyla’s freckles stand out starkly as her cheeks flush a pretty crimson. “Just a few more minutes I think and it’ll be ready. I hope you don’t mind, I need to move my laundry to the dryer. I normally do all my chores on my days off but as you know I’ve been pretty busy!” she says brightly.

“Oh my god Twyla, you still have to take care of yourself,” she says, setting her own glass of wine on the table and taking a seat as Twyla flounces off to the small room attached to the kitchen. 

“Well, I am… just in different ways," she calls from the other room.

Twyla's just so happy all the fucking time, even when she's spending her days off working… even when she's spending her evenings with her. She wants to be annoyed by it, but she can't. 

Stevie’s not, and has never been, a perpetually happy person. But Twyla is, and always has been. Stevie’s known Twyla all her life even if they never ran in the same circles or went to the same parties. If she thinks back hard enough she can see her same toothy grin on an awkward teeneager. 

Twyla’s happiness seems to at least be a little contagious, or something about the other woman sets off a bit of her sharpness, eases the tension that lives in her shoulders, in her attitude. 

_She's_ happier when she's around Twyla and it's new and weird but she just kinda wants to lean into it.

And… _holy shit._

Oh _fuck_ she’s been so clueless. She’s an actual idiot. She _likes_ Twyla. Like, wants to kiss Twyla… wants to make that map of her freckles but only after she’s traced them with her finger tips and maybe her mouth and _holy shit_ she likes Twyla.

But Twyla’s not even her type. Twyla’s _nice._ Twyla is far too nice and Twyla’s a girl and she’s never dated a girl before. 

It’s not like she didn’t know she could like girls though, she’s greatly enjoyed time spent with ladies at Jake’s whiskey nights and there was that one dream she had years ago about Alexis but it’s never really been serious… and she feels maybe kinda serious about Twyla?

No one should ever feel anything less than serious about Twyla. It’s fucking _Twyla._

What is she going to do now? She's sitting at Twyla's kitchen table about to eat dinner with her and she's having some kind of emotional breakthrough. How's she supposed to sit across from Twyla now that she knows? Knows what these weird feelings floating around her head and her stomach really mean?

How could she have not known this whole time? 

It didn’t burn so hot like it has in the past. It isn't a forest fire it's a slow simmer that's built into a bright and blazing swell of affection and it feels… right. Right, now that she knows, of course. 

Twyla sweeps back into the kitchen, smiling brightly at Stevie before dishing them up two bowls of what turns out to be the best soup/pasta she’s ever had. They talk about what’s left to paint and Twyla’s extensive experience with breakfast foods, and Stevie’s stomach is warm and full and content here in Twyla’s little kitchen. 

It’s overwhelming, how comfortable she is here in this space, with the newfound knowledge… the realization of what she’s been feeling all these weeks.

After dinner Twyla pours them both another full glass of wine and leads Stevie out onto her front porch where they sit together on the swing she’s fit in between an impressive amount of plants. 

The air is crisp and cool tonight as fall starts to settle over Schitt’s Creek, finally taking the place of the sweltering heat they’ve all been trudging through for the last few months. 

Twyla links her arm with Stevie’s and rests her head on her shoulder and _god_ Stevie likes her so much. She’s just not sure if Twyla likes her in the same way. Maybe she needs to mull things over a bit more, enjoy what they’ve got going instead of trying to rush things… possibly ruin things. 

Stevie relaxes into Twyla and they stay out on the porch, swinging gently and cuddling together until Stevie's certain Twyla has fallen asleep. 

Stevie wakes Twyla by untangling herself slowly. "You should go to bed, Twyla. I should get home."

Stevie stands and offers her hand to Twyla to pull her to her feet.

Twyla just blinks slowly at her and seems to be considering something, considering her. 

She must have settled on something because she takes Stevie's hand and stands before using the same hand to pull Stevie into a hug. 

A full body hug—nearly every inch of Stevie's body is now pressed against Twyla. The few inches Twyla has on her allows her to turn her face into the taller woman's neck for as long as she dares. 

"Goodnight Twyla," she whispers softly against the warm skin of Twyla's neck.

"Goodnight Stevie," Twyla whispers and Stevie thinks—hopes—it was just as breathless as her own.

She steps out of the circle of Twyla’s arms and thinks briefly that Twyla’s going to kiss her. They’re still close enough that she can feel Twyla’s warm breath ghosting over her face, can see Twyla’s eyes trained on her lips… but when Twyla’s eyes find her gaze again she just smiles softly, sweetly, and puts another few inches of distance between them.

When she finally makes her way home her apartment is cold and empty compared to the warmth of the evening she just had. She thinks that maybe she’d like that to be a regular occurrence. Which she’s felt for quite some time, every time she gets to enjoy Twyla’s company. But now that she knows what those feelings are, has put a label on them, they’ve changed.

They’ve morphed into thoughts of lazy kisses, of cuddling up on that porch swing and making out until it becomes too obscene for them to be anywhere other than the privacy of Twyla’s bedroom. 

She imagines Twyla teaching her to cook, of sweet kisses shared in her kitchen, watching a little television together after dinner before they share mint kisses while brushing their teeth… going to bed together. Waking up wrapped up in each other the next day. 

These thoughts are what Stevie carries with her into her bed, what she mulls over as she tries to figure out how the hell to make that happen. 

The ball _has_ to be in her court now. Twyla’s done so much of the heavy lifting so far. It’s her turn. 

She grabs her phone from the nightstand and sends off a quick text to Twyla.

**_[Stevie:] Wanna come with me to david and patrick’s for dinner on sunday? I'll drive._ **

_[Twyla:] I'd love to!_

_Shit_. She's gotta clean her car out _and_ tell David and Patrick she's invited Twyla to dinner.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh Patrick, Stevie brought Twyla!" David calls as soon as he opens the front door. She'd apparently been correct in her assumption they'd do nothing but tease her all night.

"You knew she was coming, David. And as our benevolent host you should know it's not very nice to make someone feel like an unexpected guest."

"I'm sure Twyla's well aware of the fact I'm pleased she's here… you on the other hand? Questionable. At least you look nice. Those jeans have been getting more wear lately, huh?" he says with a smirk.

"Okay, I'll be helping Patrick with the wine," she says ducking around her idiotic best friend and taking off to find the other one she has no doubt will be waiting for her with a nice glass of wine.

And she's right, he is. He's waiting for her in the kitchen with a shit-eating grin and a chilled glass of  _ white wine _ . 

" _ Stevie,"  _ he greets and he sounds as smug as he looks. 

"Currently regretting telling you about the wine analogy," she groans but still grabs the glass out of his hand.

"You left your date at the door with David? Was that wise?" he says tipping his own glass to clink against hers.

"She's not my date and she can take care—"

"Twyla brought us flowers!" David calls as he prances into the room. He's already outrageous tonight and Stevie wants to punch him right in the face. 

He's acting like he knows a secret no one else does and they've only been here approximately three minutes and if Twyla hasn't caught on that these supposed friends think she has feelings for Twyla… when she does but sure as hell hasn't said anything to the aforementioned friends, well…

_ This is a fucking disaster. _

"It was nice of you to let me tag along," Twyla says, now at Stevie's side with her warm, toothy smile. 

"Twyla, would you like white wine or red?"

"You mean red is an option?" Stevie chimes in.

"Not for you. Twyla?" Patrick asks again.

"White, please!"

They're having too much fun. They're all laughing at her, she can  _ feel _ it. She's an idiot and she's disowning all three of them as soon as this dinner is over.

She wishes this lovely wood flooring would open up and swallow her whole.

Patrick putters back over to the stove and Stevie follows to peek over his shoulder to see that at least she's going to get her favorite meal out of this. He's made his homemade ravioli with some of the cheese they get from Heather's farm and she bumps his shoulder with hers in thanks. 

He offers her a kind smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners and says, "I could teach you to make this. It's great for a date night."

She pinches the back of his neck and heads back over to Twyla's side. They've moved into the adjoining dining room where David has placed the flowers and Twyla's telling David a story about the time her cousin's ex-girlfriend's cat had a bad reaction to some lilies that had been brought into the house so she didn't get a bouquet with any just in case they'd gotten a cat since they last spoke. 

She fits here, effortlessly into Stevie's little bubble and she feels her heart squeeze at the thought that this could become a regular occurrence. 

Stevie only notices she's been staring at Twyla when David speaks. Her face flushes and she scowls when she turns to see David's knowing smile.

Having a best friend is officially overrated. 

"So Twyla, how's the painting going?" David asks innocently.

"Oh! It's been really fun. There's still quite a bit to do but I enjoy helping Stevie," Twyla says and she is so damn earnest about it.

"I'm sure Stevie really enjoys the help," David says smugly as he takes a sip of his wine. 

Twyla touches the small of Stevie's back and for a second she thinks her body is going to burst into flames, here in the middle of David's precious cottage, and take his custom dining table down with her. 

Twyla smiles softly at Stevie. "I'm gonna see if Patrick needs any help… or if I can steal his recipe because whatever he's cooking smells amazing," she says, and then suddenly both Twyla and her hand are gone.

Stevie turns her gaze on David and he at least has the decency to look a little scared. 

“I—” she starts and stops, taking a sip of wine before continuing, “I maybe like Twyla.”

David’s gaze softens just a touch, “Are we being sincere right now?”

“I think I could use some sincerity,” she sighs, and fuck she’s got it bad if she’s asking to have this conversation with  _ anyone _ , let alone David. To be fair, he’s the only one she’s ever had these conversations with but it normally takes quite a bit for them to get here, to this place of vulnerability.

“Well, I think it’s pretty obvious she likes you, too, so what are you going to do about it?”

“Wait until it’s my birthday and hope she asks me to dinner?” 

David’s mouth drops open before his lips pull into a narrow thin line across his face. “Okay, that’s theft, get your own story.” 

She sighs and swirls the wine around in her glass as she ponders her next move, “I just… it’s all so new?”

“That she’s a girl or—”

“No! That it’s Twyla. She’s so… nice? She’s nice and has her life together and knows how to cook and takes care of people and like, what the fuck am I? What do I have to offer? It’s easy when the people you’re seeing are assholes or just a casual fling. Nothing about Twyla seems casual to me.”

“Stevie, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but  _ you _ have _ your _ life together. You have a great job, you’re gorgeous when you wear something other than your discount jeans and honestly even when you do, and you know it kills me to say that. You also seem to be plenty nice to Twyla and the _ rest _ of your friends most of the time. You deserve to have nice things, someone nice to cook you meals and eat you out on the regular,” he says casually but his eyebrows dance, betraying his own amusement.

“Oh my god shut up,” she says but slaps his arm playfully. She turns her attention back to Twyla, where she’s clearly admiring Patrick’s cooking if his preening is anything to go by. 

She’s not really let herself take Twyla in tonight, or think about why she agreed to come to this dinner with her in the first place. Why she’s curled her hair into soft waves and put on a little makeup… but Stevie is taken by how pretty she is now, here with her and her two best friends. 

And maybe David’s right, maybe Twyla does like her too. 

When they finally sit down to dinner Stevie is starving and wastes no time tucking in. 

“I guess I know what I’ll be cooking the next time Stevie comes over for dinner,” Twyla says with laughter in her voice.

Stevie refuses to look up from her plate at this point. She can feel her heated cheeks and she doesn't need to give any of these assholes any more ammunition. 

There's a part of her though, the soft part of her that loves this… sharing this with her two favorite people and Twyla who's become, well, whatever it is she's become over the last few weeks.

“Stevie’s said you're a really good cook!" Patrick says.

Stevie looks up in time to see Twyla beaming at her. "She's going to let me create the menus for the new motel. I'm so excited, I've already started a list of possible items and will hopefully start making some for Stevie to try soon."

Stevie rolls her eyes at the idea that she's _letting_ Twyla handle the menus as if she's not doing Stevie another massive favour. 

"Wait, you're going to be trying out breakfast foods? That's the kind of help I'd be willing to offer Stevie. Taste testing. I'm a breakfast expert," David declares from across the table, his eyes lit with hopeful interest. 

Before Stevie gets the chance to tell him to fuck off Twyla tells him she'd be very glad to have his input, turning her grin to Stevie as of she's proud David Rose wants to spend time with her, with them. 

The rest of the evening goes smoothly with both men teasing Stevie mercilessly, Twyla laughing at their antics, and surprisingly—a lot of touching.

Stevie's not sure if it's the wine, the comfortable atmosphere, or the nearness of the two idiots in love, but Twyla starts to touch Stevie as soon as the dinner plates are cleared and the desert is brought out.

It starts with a quick squeeze to her knee under the table and then one to her forearm as she shovels tiramisu into her mouth. Her skin feels like it’s on fire. She feels so aware of Twyla, can feel her presence next to her in a way that’s… very new.

The hand at the small of her back as they make their way to the living room makes her feel like she needs to excuse herself and down a glass of wine, but she doesn’t. She starts touching Twyla back.

She lets her fingertips play with the ends of her hair as they sit on the couch as David and Patrick argue over which game they should end the evening playing. She purposely grazes her Twyla’s hand with her own when they reach forward to grab new cards once they finally settle on a game.

That alone, the touching, feels like a game. It’s got Stevie hot, on edge… feeling reckless as they start trading glances along with the touches, and if she doesn’t get her hands on Twyla soon she’s going to lose it.

And she does lose it. As soon as David shuts the front door behind them, a stupid knowing smile on his face, Twyla is pulling Stevie close by her waist and Stevie’s claiming Twyla’s mouth with hers.

Stevie’s breath rushes out of her as Twyla’s arms twine around her body and Stevie’s arms wrap around Twyla’s waist. It’s a good kiss, maybe the best first kiss she’s ever had because Twyla’s working her body like she’s done this before. Twyla’s gentle with her but firm in her touches, leaving no part of her wanting to the imagination. It’s there, in the way she kisses Stevie, holds her.

Twyla pulls back enough to tuck a strand of hair behind Stevie's ear and offers her a reassuring smile.

"Why didn't you… I thought you were going to kiss me Friday but then you pulled back," Stevie eventually says.

"You weren't ready," she answers simply as if she'd been able to see directly into Stevie's mind, had instinctively known she needed to sort a few more things out. 

"But I was ready tonight?"

Twyla's lips pull to the side in as smug of a grin as Stevie's ever seen, "You tell me."

Stevie places her hands on Twyla’s hips and pulls her in, "I was ready tonight."

"Mhm," Twyla responds and kisses the tip of Stevie’s nose.

"Wanna make out in the car like teenagers?"

"Well, we definitely shouldn't do it here. David just closed the curtain he's been peeping through for the last several minutes," she says nodding in the direction of the window just over Stevie's left shoulder.

"Oh my God. I need to turn my phone off, let's go."

Twyla's laughter follows them all the way into Stevie's car, where they do in fact spend some time making out once they pull into the safety of Twyla's driveway.


	5. Chapter 5

She's not sure exactly what she and Twyla are doing. Twyla's not mentioned anything, nothing about boundaries or expectations or exclusivity, and normally that wouldn't bother Stevie. Normally she just accepts what her partner is willing to give her. She’s usually thrilled to get attention and affection without any expectations attached but not now… not with Twyla. 

She wants to know where she and Twyla stand after the kiss at David and Patrick’s. After the hour of canoodling in Stevie’s car.

Things don’t really change much over the next few days. Twyla’s busy with the café and Stevie’s busy having a meltdown over these feelings she’s got swirling around in her gut… and also overseeing the construction and the team she finally agrees to have paint the upstairs of the bed and breakfast.

She's not even sure where they stand when she goes over to Twyla’s for another dinner that this time has as much kissing as that night after dinner with David and Patrick. Only this is hotter and horizontal on Twyla’s orange couch. It ends with Twyla suggesting they go away together to a bed and breakfast several towns over, to check out the competition and help her solidify her menu choices. 

Oh, and to  _ connect. _

She's so nervous she calls David and he helps her pack while Twyla handles the reservations and planning.

On the drive there she lets Twyla's cheerful chatter and inimitable stories fill the car, nervous energy pooling in her stomach. 

The pool turns into a churning ocean of anxiety as they check in. 

She's not anxious  _ about  _ Twyla. She knows she likes Twyla. Likes Twyla a lot. She thinks maybe that’s why she’s so fucking nervous, she just wants to get it right. Do this right… do right by Twyla.

The tension finally breaks as soon as they set foot in their room and find it completely decked out in raccoons. 

Raccoon paintings, photographs, figurines. 

"I thought ‘Raccoon Room’ was just… a name. You know, a quirky way of keeping track of the rooms instead of numbering them? This is—this is horrifying," Stevie says, dropping her duffle on the floor. 

She watches as Twyla moves to the dresser across the room and picks up a figurine of a racoon wearing a bowtie and holding a daisy. "I think they're cute! Uncle Jeb always had a bunch on his property when we were growing up. They'd steal watermelons and squash out of the garden and he'd get so mad!" she says, turning to Stevie with a grin so big her eyes squint in a way that makes Stevie melt just a bit.

"Yeah, but… they're hands are weird. But, they do weirdly kind of remind me of David so…" she trails off, her eyes moving from Twyla to the big king size bed in the middle of the room. 

She doesn't want to think about David right now, or anyone really… other than Twyla. 

"So, what's on the agenda?" she asks innocently.

"There are great restaurants in this area, which is partially why I picked it but  _ also _ ,” she says, clearly pausing to build excitement, “a museum that is basically made up of regular objects that also look like animals. When I was looking for things to do, I saw an ad with a piece of macaroni that looks surprisingly like a goose.”

Stevie just laughs and submits herself to the day ahead. 

The museum is small and mostly a bust but she does end up sending David a picture of a ketchup chip that happened to have a hole in the center that looked suspiciously like a moth. 

The lunch place they stopped at did have the best tacos Stevie’s ever had in her life. 

It feels like a day one would spend with a girlfriend. This whole trip feels like something you’d do with someone you’re serious about. And Stevie is serious about Twyla… she just wants to know they’re on the same page.

Maybe she should just ask Twyla about it but there’s enough left over relational baggage that makes her worried she’s once again expecting too much in return, wanting more than Twyla’s willing to give her.

*******

The wine with dinner sits warmly in the pit of Stevie's stomach and spreads to her joints as they make their way back up to their raccoon-infested room. 

She's been thinking about their room a lot today, not the raccoons necessarily, but the damn king size bed.

Which makes her think about Twyla's lips which she's grown accustomed to and Twyla's gorgeous freckled skin, which she'd like to get to know, laid bare against the soft sheets.

Today has been… wonderful. She's never really done this before. A weekend trip with activities and multiple meals and hand holding in public. It  _ feels  _ real.

She hopes Twyla feels the same. She thinks she must if she booked this room for them with the one bed… the bed Stevie can't quit picturing a very naked Twyla in. 

Her heart is pounding in her chest by the time they make it safely inside. So much so that she leans heavily heavily against the door after she closes it behind them. 

Her eyes watch Twyla as she moves further into the room. Tracks the ease with which she moves, like maybe the wine has loosened her joints, too.

Twyla sweeps her braid over one shoulder, giving Stevie a good look at the back of her neck and her one bare shoulder where her sweater has slouched down on one side.

"I hope… it wasn’t presumptuous? To only get one bed. Not that we can't just share it like adults but—"

"I don't wanna share it," Stevie says quickly, the world's tumbling out clumsily. "Shit, I mean I  _ do.  _ I want to share this bed with you but also like…  _ with  _ you _? _ " She finishes lamely.

Twyla turns to look at her and a grin blooms across her face and god she's just… absolutely breathtaking. Stevie feels the pull of her smile like a magnet, closing the space between them with sure and even steps. She presses her lips to Twyla’s lips confidently, certain.

Twyla gets them both naked in no time and Stevie just… watches. Feels. Every nerve in her body is aflame as Twyla's fingers caress every inch of newly exposed skin.

It steals her breath, Twyla's hands on her. And then… Twyla's mouth is on her too.

Twyla's teeth and tongue worrying the skin just under her left ear, hands guiding her towards the bed, thumbs pressing into her hip bones. Her hands are delicate, gentle… but sure and confident as they spread Stevie out just where Twyla wants her. 

The quilt is whipped out from under her and she finds herself on the sheets she's spent all day imagining. They feel cool and crisp against her warm skin.

She can’t take her eyes off Twyla even as her head rests against the pillows and Twyla settles in between her thighs, one hand sliding down her ass then the back of her thigh and into the crook of her knee. The sensation alone startles a moan out of her. 

"You're lovely, Stevie," she whispers, as she guides her leg up to encourage Stevie to wrap her leg around Twyla, which she gladly does. 

Twyla's messy braid tickles her as she leans forward to press kisses, sweet and light, to every inch of Stevie's skin that she can reach—her shoulder, just above the swell of her right breast, her wrist, and in the crevice of her elbow. 

She's on fire, every inch of her being is aflame and she squirms, desperate to find some way to alleviate the pressure building in her stomach.

It's been ages since she's been in bed with someone for something other than a quick hookup and she doesn't want to waste it but she also feels like she may combust if Twyla doesn't touch her soon.

Just the thought of Twyla touching her causes her breath to hitch and her core to throb in time with the beating of her heart. 

"Twy…  _ please, _ " she says, the desperation in her voice not surprising her nearly as much as the panting she can’t seem to get under control.

Twyla just offers her a sweet smile, bright and sunshiney and Stevie wants to kiss it right the hell off her face. She's about to tell Twyla so, tell her she shouldn't look so relaxed… so unhurried when Stevie feels like she's about to come just because Twyla's run a single fingertip over her fucking nipple.

But that's when Twyla scoots down the bed and places her mouth right where she’s wet and wanting.

"Oh my fucking—" she starts but cuts herself off to moan instead, words becoming far too much work when she'd rather focus on the feeling of Twyla's fingers spreading her open, her tongue, on reaching down to tangle her fingers through Twyla's silky strands of hair, her braid completely destroyed at this point.

She feels her stomach tighten and Twyla lays an arm over her hips to calm the twitching, the writhing she's absolutely doing against her will. 

It feels so good. The wet slide of Twyla's expert tongue through her folds, the hum of Twyla's clear enjoyment of this particular activity. The tip of her tongue flicks quickly over her clit before continuing it's exploration, delving as deep inside her as it can. 

Stevie glances down at Twyla, the other woman's eyes already on hers. The leg that was wrapped around Twyla's waist is now hooked over Twyla's shoulder and Twyla is… fucking smiling into her. 

The whimpers leaving Twyla's mouth betray her own urgency, how much she's getting off just being settled between Stevie's thighs. 

It's so very Twyla. Enjoying giving as much as she gets….or as much as she is going to get, because Stevie wants to make sure she  _ gets _ . She deserves the whole fucking world and if Stevie can give her an ounce of it,  _ god she fucking wants to _ .

"Yeah, I'm gonna… holy shit Twyla I'm gonna—" and lets herself break off again as Twyla's mouth moves up to suck as her fingers take over for her tongue. It's mere seconds before she's coming against Twyla's lips.

Stevie's never seen Twyla do anything as obscene as wipe her mouth on the back of her hand and she feels blessed that her senses came back in time for her to sit up and witness it. She thinks if she hadn't just come, that sight alone would've pushed her right over the edge. 

She knows she must look absolutely wrecked—she feels it. Her chest is still heaving. She's not sure it's stopped for what feels like hours and she can't remember the last time she'd taken a deep breath, but she's so far from satisfied and she won’t be until Twyla’s just as wrecked as she is. 

She wants to get her hands on Twyla.  _ Has  _ to get her hands on Twyla. She reaches and grabs the hand Twyla still has on her hip and pulls her, hauling her up so she can kiss her. 

Twyla breathes a husky laugh against Stevie's lips as she flips them over, pressing Twyla's small frame into the mattress.

Stevie's not sure if it's from the haze of her own orgasm or if Twyla really is the most beautiful person she's ever seen, but when she’s finally in-between Twyla's legs she just wants to take a moment or two to look at her. 

"Twyla… you're gorgeous," she whispers, the tips of her fingers moving over her clavicle and down between her breasts, her eyes taking in every inch of freckled skin. 

She scoots back enough that she can get her hands on Twyla’s legs, her thighs. 

Her skin is so soft under her palms as she runs them down her thighs and then back up, her eyes following the same path. 

“I just want to look at you… god, you’re just…”

“Stevie, please. I need you,” Twlya whispers, “can you look and touch at the same time?”

“Yeah… yeah I can do that.”

Stevie’s fingertips run up the inside of Twyla’s thigh, drifting up and running through Twyla’s soft curls and brush lightly over Twyla’s clit.

“Oh. Oh god Stevie…”

“I—I know Twyla. God, I— ” but she trails off, her eyes too busy taking in the sight before her. Twyla’s heaving chest flushed a deep shade of pink, with breasts Stevie's not even had the chance to properly explore. The feeling of Twyla wet and warm under her fingertips as she teases and strokes and circles… it's devastatingly perfect.

“You’re so…”

“Yeah, I really enjoy um… what we just did. I’m not going to last. I’ve wanted...” Twyla groans out and Stevie watches her fists twist in the bedsheets, her head pressing back into the mattress.

“Yeah, me too. Me too, I was… so slow in realizing but…” She says and she heaves a breath. She feels almost more overwhelmed now than she did when their positions were reversed. She wants to touch Twyla everywhere. She wants to kiss every freckle, lick every inch. 

“Stevie, we have plenty of time… We can even make this like a regular thing we do?”

“Oh shit, did I say all that out loud?” Stevie asks. She’d take the time to be embarrassed if she wasn’t otherwise occupied, her hand tweaking one of Twyla's nipples. “And um, yes of-fucking-course I want this to be—”

"Kiss me, kiss me…” Twyla says, her hips lifting in an attempt to bring Stevie’s fingers where she wants them while also reaching a hand up in an attempt to pull Stevie’s weight down onto her body. 

“Yeah, yeah okay,” she mutters and moves forward onto Twyla so fast that their foreheads hit just hard enough to make them laugh softly.

But the laughter fades just as quickly as it came as Stevie's fingers resume moving between Twyla's folds. Her stomach pulls and twists as Twyla's sighs and moans fill the pocket of warmth between them.

She's fucking turned on again. She wants to exist in this space forever, Twyla's soft and moist supple skin under hers. Twyla's hot breath panting into her open mouth because they're both too gone for actual kissing but neither daring to move apart. 

Twyla arches one last time, Stevie's name spilling from her mouth as she comes against Stevie's nimble fingers. 

Stevie lifts Twyla enough to slide her arms under her body, holding on to her as tightly as she feels she can, her breath just as ragged as Twyla's. 

After a moment Twyla's arms wrap around Stevie, her petite hands caressing her spine, soothing the adrenaline still coursing through her body.

She wants to stay here endlessly, with her entire body… her entire being wrapped up and in and around Twyla like she feels it is now. 

She  _ really  _ likes Twyla. She wants this with Twyla… a relationship or whatever Twyla's willing to give her, which Stevie suspects is quite a lot. 

But Stevie wants to give it back, too. Twyla is always giving to others. With her money and her time and her friendship. If Stevie's lucky enough to have earned Twyla's affection in a way no one else has…

It feels serious and heavy and there's a finality to it that seems boundless… but she wants it. She feels the desire for that deep inside herself and it's… a lot.

She rolls over next to Twyla, who rolls to meet her halfway, both women apparently not done touching each other. One of Twyla's hands slips between her and the pillow and slides into her hair while her other arm drapes over her waist. 

God, she can't think of anyone that's held her like this, like she's precious. 

She reaches a hand up to pull out the hair tie that's somehow managed to hang on to the braid that basically doesn't exist anymore in Twyla's messy hair so that she can run her fingers through the ends of it. 

"So… was this how you expected this trip to go?" She whispers, the fingers in Twyla's hair moving to trace the freckles on her shoulder.

"It isn't why I suggested it… but I thought maybe you might feel the same way about us and what we're doing that I do."

"Mmmm, which is?"

Twyla's laughter fans warmly across her face, "I thought I just spent a good amount of time showing you, but I'm more than happy to tell you, too," she says and presses her nose to Stevie's, "I would like to, if you find it agreeable, date you. Exclusively. For a very long time."

"You really just… get straight to the point."

"I don't want to play games with you Stevie."

"I don't… I don't want to play games with you either."

"So?"

"Are you free for dinner tomorrow? I can't cook but I know some pretty great restaurants that you don't work at."

Twyla presses her answer against Stevie's lips, and cheeks, and forehead, and she feels herself melt just a little bit into the warmth of the woman beside her.

*******

Stevie wakes early the next morning and it takes every ounce of strength she has to leave the warm cocoon of a still sleeping Twyla.

She throws on the bare minimum of acceptable clothing to leave the room. Somewhere in her hazy morning brain the instinct to see how the bed and breakfast works still lingers.

The dining room is bright as sunlight streams in from the open windows and it smells divine. 

She thinks their place will look much nicer with its lighter paint colors… and lack of hunting lodge and woodland feel. 

The spread is nice. There's a good assortment of breakfast staples along with a wide variety of pastries. 

She makes a note to order some trays for their dining room when she spots their tray, entirely grateful she's not going to have to try to balance everything in her arms on her way back to the room. 

She loads the tray up with two cups of coffee, pastries, eggs, milk, and juice. Everything they might want before precariously making her way up the stairs and back to the room.

When Stevie slips back into the room she sets the tray of food gently on the small round table in the little nook near the windows, a soft golden light slipping through the gauze curtains.

Twyla’s still sleeping soundly, her body only half covered by the thin sheet they’d finally slipped under last night. The sheet stops just below the devastating slope of Twyla’s back that she now knows leads to a rather fantastically pert ass. 

Her freckles are bright and shining in the morning light and she finds herself wondering if she’ll ever get over them. She slips beneath the covers to join Twyla, leaving her clothes on, lest they get too distracted to eat breakfast while it’s still warm.

She lets her fingers drift lazily down Twyla’s spine, slipping beneath the sheet so she can run her palm over the curve of the other woman’s ass as she presses kisses to her forehead, over her closed eyes and finally a quick peck of her lips. 

“The cinnamon rolls don’t even look half as good as Ivan’s so I’m sure whatever you come up with for our place will be perfect,” she says softly as Twyla’s eyes blink open slowly. 

“Mmm, we also won’t have any rooms decked out in woodland creatures,” she mumbles, leaning in to press a kiss to Stevie’s lips. Stevie thinks she’d meant it to be a quick peck judging from the way Twyla pulled back only to join their lips again seconds later. 

"I thought you liked the raccoons?" She asks but her answer comes in Twyla pulling her back in for another quick kiss. 

“It’s nice to be able to do this now… kiss you when I want,” Twyla says softly, almost dreamily as she leans back on her pillow.

“So you’ve wanted to kiss me for a long time then?” Stevie asks and tries not to be too smug about it.

“On and off since Cabaret.”

“Shit, Twyla that was—” 

“Oh, I’m aware,” she says sweetly, her hand cupping Stevie’s cheek.

"I'm sorry it took me a little while to… well, I guess what I'm trying to say is maybe it took me a second to figure out what I was feeling but I'm… also glad I can kiss you whenever I want. Which, fair warning, is  _ a lot.  _ But you are…" she stops, worried she's saying too much but when she meets Twyla's eyes she sees her open and sincere face and realizes she doesn't think she'll ever be too much for Twyla.

It looks like Twyla knows exactly what she's getting into. 

"You're wonderful and I like you  _ so  _ fucking much."

Twyla beams up at her, "Good, because I like you so much too, Stevie."

"Good, cool... that's good."

Twyla caresses Stevie's cheek briefly and presses one last kiss to her lips before slipping out of bed and ambling over to the breakfast, grabbing the cup of coffee waiting for her. 

Stevie misses her in bed only until she realizes that while she can’t keep touching Twyla, she’s absolutely okay with watching her pad naked through the room while munching on a croissant.

"The raccoons are cute, you should do something like this. Maybe just… something you like," Twyla offers as she takes in every piece of raccoon decor.

"Currently the only thing I'm liking is your body and I don't think Mr. Rose would like a room named 'Twyla's Left Breast," she says finally pulling herself off the bed and settling in at the small breakfast table.

She grabs a cinnamon bun and adds milk to her coffee before continuing, "but, I could…" she says with a dramatic eye roll, "maybe name the rooms after flowers and talk to Ronnie's florist-landscape maybe-girlfriend about making sure the rooms have fresh flower arrangements that match their namesake."

Twyla gasps and takes her place in the other chair, "Stevie! That's brilliant! You should definitely do that."

"Okay, as much as I'm loving this, you're extremely naked which I um, really love. But either you're going to have to put some clothes on or mine are gonna have to come off because—"

"Take yours off Stevie."

"Okay but we've gotta check out in—"

"Take them off."


	6. Chapter 6

Stevie’s so fucking glad the bed and breakfast is done. She really is. But standing here, leaning against the door frame and watching Twyla flit about the kitchen instructing the newly hired chef as he makes her recipes… something tightens painfully in her chest.

These last few months have obviously been some of the best she’s had in a long time and her love for this place… for this woman, are boundless.

She’ll hate not getting to spend most of her days here, time with Twyla painting and more recently cooking, or watching Twyla cook. The picnics in the grounds… she’ll have to move on to another place and she’s not sure she’ll find one as special as this one, or one where she can convince Twyla to spend her days off.

Stevie decided it would be a good idea to host a Breakfast for Dinner Night as a way of giving the staff and the place a test run, as well as thanking everyone for helping… and David and Patrick were invited despite the fact they barely helped at all. 

Twyla finally catches her watching and flashes her a knowing smile, “You look very nice, Stevie.”

“Thanks, my girlfriend made me this sweater for Christmas,” she says, smoothing out the mossy green cable knit sweater.

Twyla winds her way over to her, pressing a kiss to her lips while wiping her doughy hands on the tea towel she’s got thrown over her shoulder. 

“Well it’ll be too warm to wear it in a few weeks unless you want to start wearing sweaters in the spring and summer like David… which I won’t mind as you look ever so cute in anything you wear,” Twyla says, her now clean fingers teasing the hem of the sweater, admiring her handiwork. 

Stevie just rolls her eyes and brushes a patch of flour off Twyla’s cheek with a corner of the towel, “Just make sure you have time to change… and let Jacob actually cook this time.”

“I am!” Twyla protests, glancing over her shoulder at her chef-in-training who really should be flying solo at this point but it turns out Twyla’s a stickler for perfection when it comes to her own recipes. 

Stevie gives Twyla’s cheek a peck before doing one last walk through of the space before the guests start arriving. 

The mimosas are ready to be handed out to all the guests as they arrive, which she’s insisted on doing herself.

The dining room looks warm and inviting. The time she and Twyla spent painting this space has paid off. The soft green is calming and works exceptionally well with the off white rustic tables and chairs David helped her find. The fireplace on the far wall is glowing brightly and the flowers on each table are a nice added touch. Each table arrangement corresponds with one of the room names upstairs. It’s cliche and ridiculous but Stevie thinks it’s a nice touch, a bit of an extra step she hopes pays off in the reviews.

Her project is finally ready for other people to enjoy and she’s excited to see it full of life tonight, as full of life as this place deserves.

Ronnie and Jill arrive first, at what looks like Jill’s urging if Ronnie’s pout at being the first to arrive is to be believed. They’re cute though, Jill rushing them into the dinning room to show Ronnie the flowers.

“So, what is this… a soft opening?” David asks as soon as he enters the front door.

Stevie reluctantly passes David a mimosa from the tray by the door, complete with an eye roll, “It’s not a soft opening, it’s a thank you dinner for everyone who helped get this thing up and running… and my two freeloading best friends. Speaking of…” she says just as Patrick walks in the door. 

“Hey! I helped,” David says, passing Patrick his mimosa and snatching another one off the tray for himself. “I came and taste tested things a few weeks ago, not to mention you used my impeccable taste to score a few of these pieces of furniture.”

“Yes and you made fun of me the entire time you were here eating Twyla’s food!”

“Well, seems you should have expected that, Stevie,” Patrick says with a smug grin.

“Look, it's not my fault that the sight of your  _ girlfriend _ in that kitchen made you lose every ounce of common sense,” David adds in quickly, as if it’s going to help his case.

“I recall a few times in the early days where the sight of me in Ray’s kitchen made _you_ lose _your_ mind,” Patrick mumbles, offering Stevie his best attempt at a wink.

“Uh… what’s this about a girlfriend, Stevie? I hope you’ve not been using this place as some kind of brothel,” Roland says as he crowds in the front entrance with Jocelyn pushing David and Patrick further into the lobby. 

“Um, no… and you and everyone in town know I’m seeing Twyla. What are you two doing here anyway? I didn’t think I’d see you guys until the actual opening,” she says, reluctantly offering the tray of mimosas.

“Oh well, Johnny rang us up earlier today and told us about the soft open,” Jocelyn offers helpfully. 

Stevie cuts her gaze to David and he at least looks a little regretfully over his shoulder at her. She hadn’t told Mr. Rose about the trial dinner. She’d wanted to do it and surprise him, tell him how she’d planned a runthrough in an attempt to make sure opening day ran as smoothly as possible.

“Yeah, he should be here any minute. What did you end up calling this place again? R2D2?” Roland asks, sniffling loudly as he grabs three mimosas, passing two over to Jocelyn.

Stevie drops her head in her hands, still standing in front of the open front door as the Schitts move further into the room.

“Oh! Actually it’s RBBNB which of course is short for Rosebud Bed and Breakfast!” Twyla says cheerily from somewhere behind Stevie and she feels her shoulder relax back into their normal position.

Mr. Rose’s impending arrival however, keeps her jaw tightly locked. 

She lifts her head once she feels Twyla move in next to her, her eyes eager to take in the comforting sight of her girlfriend. 

Her girlfriend, who has changed into a very lovely dress from what she was cooking in earlier. “You look very pretty,” she whispers, her eyes glancing nervously back to the door.

“Maybe if you play your cards right I’ll let you take me home at the end of the night,” Twyla teases, reaching over to straighten the collar on Stevie’s button-up, which gets a smile from her tense jaw.

“Mr. Rose is coming,” she says ominously.

“Good! He should be here… why you didn’t invite him in the first place,” she says shaking her head and grabbing one of two remaining mimosas and handing it to Stevie. 

“I told you why.”

“And I told you that was a very dumb reason.”

“But what if he doesn’t like what I’ve done? What if he hates the name?  _ I _ hate the fucking name!”

“Stevie,  _ he _ picked the name!” Twyla says, doing a poor job of hiding her laughter.

“Oh my god, I know! I just…”

“You just need to trust yourself and how good you are at your job. Plus, Mr. Rose clearly believes in you or he wouldn’t have asked you to handle this big of a job. He could’ve asked Roland,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper at the end.

Stevie just scoffs and takes a big gulp of her mimosa, her free hand slipping into Twyla’s. “Thank you,” she says simply. She knows she doesn’t have to elaborate, that Twyla will know that thank you is for all twenty things Twyla has done for her in the last hour, even if she doesn’t know about all of them yet. 

God she really loves her.

She turns her head to press a kiss to Twyla’s cheek just as Johnny Rose himself enters through the front door.

“Well!” he says, nodding his head appreciatively as his eyes wander over the two of them and then moving to take in the space itself. “Stevie! You seem to have really hit this one out of the park!” 

Twyla gives her hand one last squeeze before excusing herself, probably using this as an excuse to check on the food one last time before they serve it. 

Johnny’s grinning broadly at her now, his hands clasped together as if poised to applaud her, “I mean really Stevie, this place is great!”

“I think this place really has the potential to be one of our most profitable locations. The grounds are a big selling point all on their own, which I can show you tomorrow, assuming you’ll be in town for a little while? Plus, I think you’ll like the direction I’ve gone with the rooms. It’s really… a special place,” she prattles off anxiously, the words tumbling out in an embarrassing cadence. 

Johnny places a hand on her shoulder and smiles his most infuriatingly proud dad smile at her, “You can walk me through everything tomorrow Stevie, but this place seems wonderful and I know you’ve done a great job.”

She swallows thickly, “Thanks, Mr. Rose.”

“Plus, I see you’ve uh… maybe had a bit of help from Ms. Sands?” he asks, clearing his throat. 

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” she whispers, desperately wishing they were talking about profit margins.

“I just, well you know, David mentioned that you and Twyla were…” he says, trailing off in favor of simply waving his hands around indistinctly. 

“Oh yeah, that is… it has been an added perk? Of taking this property on?” she says, unsure how much he knows and how much she wants to share. 

“Good! That’s good…” 

“We  _ don’t  _ have to talk about my romantic life, Mr. Rose,” she says with a shrug.

“I just want you to be happy. If you’re happy that’s all that matters to me Stevie,” he says.

“I’m happy. Like, annoyingly so.”

Johnny grins so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners and he claps her on the shoulder, “Good! Let’s join the rest of the group then, shall we?” 

*******

“I’m gonna miss this,” Stevie finally admits once the guests have left and the dining room and kitchen have been put back together again.

She’d lingered again, like she did all those months ago when she’d been reluctant to say goodnight to Twyla… this time, though, it’s reluctance to say goodbye to the place that has ended up giving her so much. 

Confidence in her skills, in herself and her role in this company apart from Mr. Rose. 

Twyla. It gave her Twyla. Gave her the healthiest relationship she’s ever had. 

Twyla, who's sitting on the step in front of her, leaning back against Stevie, her arms wrapped around Stevie’s thighs that bracket Twyla’s body as they lounge on the front steps where they’d shared a sandwich their first day of painting. 

“Yes, the stars out here are exceptional,” Twyla says, her voice quiet and in awe as she takes in the glittering sky above them. 

Stevie lets her fingers run through Twyla’s hair, her neat curls having fallen enough through the evening that they slip through her fingers like silk. “Yeah, but also just this… place. It still feels, as much as I hate the words coming out of my mouth, magical. Like, do you think we’d be together if—”

“Absolutely,” she says cutting Stevie off—and Stevie knows she did it with the cute exasperated eye roll she does. “It may have taken a little longer, but I’d been waiting for an in with you and I’m sure I would’ve found one somewhere else. But this one sure was fun. I got to cook so much breakfast.” 

Twyla turns, leaning her back against one of Stevie’s thighs so she can look up at Stevie. “And this place is magical. We’ll just have to take a little bit of its magic with us when we go.”

“Yeah? And how do we do that?” She asks, lacing her fingers with Twyla’s.

Twyla closes her eyes and breathes deeply, “Remember this feeling, the one being here has given you. Remember what you’ve gotten from being here.”

Stevie leans down and places kisses over both of Twyla’s closed eyes, then softly runs her lips across the freckles on her cheeks.

Twyla’s freckles across the bridge of her nose make her feel that way. The dip of her waist under her palm, the smell of her hair after a shower… the feeling of her lips on hers in the early morning light… all of those things make her feel as light and happy as this place does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam, I really hope you liked this story! I hope it gave you all the FEEEEEEEEEELLLLLSSSSSSSS. And that's all I'll say on the off chance you still have no idea who I am.


End file.
